Water
by Nikoru-chan
Summary: Tony left Afghanistan behind years ago. But did it leave him? N.B. non-graphic references to Tony's experiences at the hands of the Ten Rings


Water

NOTE: Takes place after the Avengers. Readers will probably get more out of this fic if you've seen Iron Man I, though if you haven't, all you really need to know is that Tony was kidnapped in Afghanistan and tortured by his captors.

The characters portrayed herein belong to Marvel. This, needless to say, is not me. 'Marvel' is not even my middle name.

Stark Tower has no swimming pool. It's a beacon of sustainability and eco-friendly energy, and its' penthouse livinq quarters are nothing short of opulent; decked out with every mod-con available, and more than a few extras that Tony's designed that are not - and never will be - on the market. But if Pepper wants to swim, she has to go down to the public pool a block over to do so.

Tony doesn't swim, not any more. He used to, Pepper knows, used to slide in and out of the water like a fish, loving the gush of it over his skin in the ocean, the bubble of it against his flesh in the jacuzzi, the buoyant weightlessness of floating under the stars in the pool. Most times when she came to his mansion, if he wasn't in the laboratory tinkering with his cars or projects, he'd be found cruising up and down the lap pool in the back, arms slicing through the water like fins. He'd see her, and swim across to breach the water at the edge of the pool, flipping off his swimming goggles as droplets spattered around him like a sea-creature; wild, fey and untouchable. She'd always secretly loved him looking like that.

She'd ask him why, when he so painstakingly designed the tower, when he created an enormous shower big enough for **six** to bathe and not feel cramped, why he left that out. She'd ask him, except she realised a long time ago that he'd never once set foot in a pool since his return from Afghanistan. At the time, she'd been so glad to have him back she never even commented on his seeming lack of interest in his old hobby. Now she doesn't even know how to inquire.

So she doesn't query him about the pool, doesn't even suggest it as part of her "twelve percent" contribution to the building, doesn't wistfully mention how much she'd like not to have to go the block over to the public pool. It's not as if she swims anywhere near as much as Tony used to, anyway. Besides which, having him back - wise-cracking, sarcastic, brilliant, whimsical Tony - is worth the inconvenience. Tony is so much himself in every other way that it seems easy to disregard this one change of character. If that's all Afghanistan wrought? Pepper's long since decided she'll take it and be glad. Sometimes she even forgets to wonder what it might mean, this seeming aversion to water.

She's forcibly reminded after Loki's attack on New York.

The Avengers have taken up occupancy in a hotel. More accurately, they have taken over a hotel. It's a nice one; small, discrete, lavishly appointed and - given that Stark Tower's structural integrity is questionable at the moment - stable. It also offers excellent security, being well-used to catering to the super-rich, though now its' only guests are a motley team of Superheroes and herself.

They've only been there a day or two; just some much-needed rest while Tony and Bruce build a means of harnessing the power of the Tesseract to Thor's specifications for the gods' journey home, while Natasha and Clint rest their bruises, while Steve regains his equilibrium after the battle and in this strange new century. While Stark tower gets a few much-needed repairs.

Pepper has no doubt that Tony'd be doing the repairs himself if it weren't for the tesseract transporter requiring his deft touch; plans from Asgard notwithstanding, there are some things best not left to lesser technicians.

But the one thing she has not prepared for is the hotel having a pool.

Generous, sprawling, occupying nearly the entire atrium, its' clear aqua is a stunning invitation. On the second morning there, it becomes clear that neither Thor nor Natasha can resist its' allure. On the third day, both Clint, Steve and, oddly, Bruce, join in the fun. Clint is there, Pepper suspects, because Natasha is. Steve appears relieved to have something less high-tech to do than play with the gadgets on offer in the suites. Bruce, on the other hand, appears to just be enjoying a pause in his tesseract efforts. As he's pointed out, at this transporter-building-stage, his part is done and Tony's the best man for the job.

By the fourth day, the pool's attractions have dimmed for the two assassins, though not for the others. But it's late in the afternoon before Tony wanders into the atrium, and the pool is dazzling in the fading sunlight. Though Tony is never still, always quicksilver movement and dizzying brilliance chasing thoughts across his face and through his being, the sight of the water seems to stop him dead. Thor, noticing him from his vantage point, bellows out a greeting.

It seems utterly wasted on the genius inventor, sparks no reaction in Tony's tired eyes, fails to draw his attention from the water in the slightest. With a frown, Pepper notes his face, usually so mobile, is pale and drawn, almost painfully blank.

Thor is not used to being ignored, to having his voice go unheard. With the speed of an Asgardian he hauls himself out of the water, drips over towards Tony. "Come, my friend," He's hearty, too hearty, "the water grows no more pleasant for the mere watching of it!"

Bruce looks up at that, and from his vantage point on the deck chair next to the pool he catches Tony's flinch, the wanness of his face shifting to an ever more sickly white. Catches it, but not quickly enough to stop Thor's laughing push, a gentle-enough blow for the god, but nonetheless one that sends the genius spinning into the water.

Pepper startles, the ungainly splash Tony makes as he hits the water a far cry from the grace and power she remembers him usually commanding in his dives. He's a good swimmer, though. Like riding a bicycle; that's the sort of thing you don't forget.

Except he's not. Not swimming, not surfacing. Struggling.

Before she can panic, Steve has pulled Tony's head above water, dragging his thrashing form to the edge of the pool and hauling him out.

Tony's eyes are open, whites visible around pupils so blown as to make his dark eyes appear black. Steve's quip, the one where he points out that a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist really ought to learn how to swim, dies on his lips.

"No," Tony's voice is all but soundless, "no no no no no no no! Yinsen, please, no! No!" Whatever landscape Tony's seeing, it's a million miles from here, and a million times more hellish. The billionaire's curled into a tiny ball, all his bluster and sarcasm stripped off him, and all Steve can think of is a rescue mission he undertook in the last war. Pulling out terrified soldiers from a torture lab. He reaches towards the other man, tries to offer what comfort he can, and is rewarded with a flinch.

"Tony? Tony, please," Pepper's voice is calm, threaded with an undercurrent of desperation. "Tony, you're in New York, you're safe. There's no more water, the Ten Rings are gone, I promise." It's obvious her words aren't reaching him; he's never told her what happened in Afghanistan, and while she can guess, she doesn't know how to make him hear her now.

Tony Stark, the brilliant, annoying, sarcastic man who didn't appear to think twice about getting in Captain America's super-strong face without even wearing his Iron Man suit, who didn't hesitate to tease and cajole the alter-ego of one of the most destructive creatures on the planet while wearing only a black sabbath T-shirt, quails at a touch, startling like a wounded wild animal. Wherever his mind is, it's not in New York.

"No! no no no! Yinsen, please, not Yinsen, no!" Nearly soundless, yet no less chilling for it, Tony continues to beg, to call for someone not even there.

"Stark! Get a grip!" Desperately, Steve grabs his shoulders, giving the other man a hard shake, "Come on, Tony!"

Hearing his name seems to snap the genius back to the present; he blinks, mouth stuttering to a silent pause as he looks around himself. Finally, his eyes lock on Steve's, ever so briefly, before they roll back in his head and Tony slumps limply to the tiles. His own fingers trembling, Bruce reaches for the pulse point on that too-pale neck. It's there, thready and fast, but reassuringly strong.

After a look from Steve, and by unspoken consent, the two S.H.I.E.L.D.-employed assassins refrain from asking about what happened at the pool, about the peculiar grimness pervasive to the hotel that evening.

Pepper mouths a few platitudes about Tony having worked non-stop on the Tesseract for four days, heading off any enquiry as to why the party-boy Stark has uncharacteristically chosen to sequester himself in his room and leave the bar untouched. Nobody comments that it took Steve to carry him there. Both of them still drenched, the dark haired man hanging laxly in his arms, somehow so much smaller and more human without his sarcastic, snarky, banter or crimson armour to make him larger than life.

No one says a thing when Tony wakes screaming later, though the soundproofing in the hotel is not that good. Midnight finds him sitting on a balcony, overlooking the city, its' smeary halogen lights a far cry from the stars he gazed at a few days before, beacons lighting the other side of the universe in the wake of a failed invasion. Steve is a silent companion on one side, an equally mute Bruce on the other. No questions are asked, and no explanations offered as slowly, painstakingly, Tony pulls himself back from the brink.

Dawn finds Tony in the pool, swimming dogged, raggedly determined laps. Walking past, Steve cannot help but smile. There it is; the pig-headed stubbornness, the quirky, never-say-die brilliance, and the sheer, ferocious willpower that - he has come to recognise - is as much a part of Tony Stark as his complicated genius. He's honoured to share a team with this man.

Tony Stark is an Avenger, and he makes Steve proud to share that name.

C+C greatly appreciated. I've not written fanfic in some time, so it's taking me a little to get back into the swing of it, and all comments and constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated.


End file.
